


Rick and Morty Gen Drabbles and Shorts

by Squikkums



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Drinking & Talking, Drunk happy Rick, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Have you ever really considered what aliens would think about all the shit humanity does?, No reindeer were harmed in the making of the first chapter, Post S3, Slice of Life, Teeny bit of angst followed by fluff, The Flesh Curtains Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-17 20:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13084833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squikkums/pseuds/Squikkums
Summary: A collection of short fics and drabbles. All gen, and focused on friendship, conflict and character interaction. Expect everything from cute holiday fluff to Rick getting drunk and trying to explain the weirdness of humanity to Squanchy and Birdperson in here, as well as anything else that inspires me.





	1. Shut Up And Listen, You Might Be Missin' Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is dedicated to [The-Clairvoyant-Rick](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MajixTrixx/pseuds/The-Clairvoyant-Rick), who gave me a very cute prompt for a festive short where Morty makes Rick hot chocolate.

Rick didn't like the holidays. He preferred to stay as far away from carols and festive cheer and family togetherness as he possibly could. Which was why Christmas Eve found him freezing his balls off in the poorly insulated garage, elbows deep in a partially mechanized reindeer carcass, instead of in the living room with the rest of the family watching _Elf._  
  
He'd rather lose a testicle to frostbite than suffer through that fresh hell, but it didn't stop him from feeling truly miserable and rather pathetically sorry for himself as he sniffled for the umpteenth time, rubbing his dripping nose on his lab coat and then digging back into the still-slightly-steaming guts of the dead deer on the table. At least his hands were warm.  
  
But as soon as he'd started to lose himself in his work and forget, at least slightly, about the icy temperature in the garage, the door to the kitchen banged open, and Rick jumped, popping a hole in his cadaver's stomach and jerking back as a little stream of bile squirted out, just missing him as it splattered on the concrete.  
  
"Hey Rick, I– eurgh.." Morty's cheerful voice quickly turned into one of disgust, and he jerked to a halt in the doorway as Rick turned an annoyed glare on him.  
  
His grandson had two thermoses tucked under one arm, and was wearing a truly hideous yellow and brown Christmas sweater, covered in reindeer silhouettes and snowflakes.  
  
Rick watched as the teenager looked, horrified, between the dead reindeer on the table and him, one hand touching the ugly fabric almost protectively. The irony of it all was enough to lift Rick's Christmas spirits, and he felt a smile trying to fight its way onto his face, but he bit it back, rolling his eyes instead.  
  
"Don't look so horrified, Morty. It's just roadkill. Y-you're looking at me like I just killed Rudolph."  
  
Morty lifted his chin at that, stepping further into the room and shutting the door, and Rick sighed, stripping off the elbow length rubber gloves he'd been wearing and tossing them on the desk behind him. He recognized that stubborn expression. He wouldn't be getting anything done until Morty had gotten whatever he wanted off his chest.  
  
"I uh," his grandson mumbled, inching closer to him while avoiding the deer as best as he could until he'd successfully put Rick between him and the dead animal. Then he looked up at him, meeting his eyes.  
  
"I brought you hot chocolate."  
  
Rick blinked.  
  
Morty had stuck one hand out after he'd spoken, clutching a green thermos, while holding a red one tightly against his chest. His jaw was tight, his teeth clenched together and his lips pressed thin. Even his eyes were hard, making the offering seem more like a threat than a gift.. but his hand was shaking just slightly, the trembling getting worse the longer Rick just watched silently.  
  
Rick tilted his head, eyeing his half of Morty's colour coordinated little offering warily, and kept his arms down at his sides.  
  
"Why?"  
  
That looked like it had been the wrong question though, and it seemed to have pissed Morty off. It _really_ seemed to have pissed him off, and Rick stepped back as he realized just how angry Morty was under that calm facade and all that ugly fabric. His grandson's hand stopped trembling, and his eyes narrowed. Then the younger man stepped forward, pushing the thermos against his chest, and Rick stumbled back another step, catching the warm metal before it fell to the ground and bumping into the desk behind him as Morty poked him in the chest again.  
  
"Because, _Rick,_ since Dad came back I n-never– I- I never see you!" Morty shouted, getting right up into his face, "You're like a- a ghost! You completely skipped out on Thanksgiving. You weren't even home! A-a-and I'm n-not letting you ditch me on Christmas too, old man. You- you think I'd rather watch stupid holiday television than- than spend Christmas with you, Rick? You think.. you- you missed last–"  
  
Morty choked on his words, looking down sharply, but Rick didn't need to hear him finish them.  
  
_You missed last Christmas._  
  
He had. He'd been in prison last Christmas. He hadn't even known exactly when it was, and he certainly hadn't considered what that might have been like for his grandson. But it had obviously been bad, if Morty's reaction right now was anything to go on.  
  
He hadn't thought Morty would want anything to do with him, though. Not after he'd made it more than clear just where Rick stood on Morty's hierarchy of "family" during Jerry's disastrous return to the fold a few weeks ago. If Rick were honest with himself – which he did at least attempt to be, at least on occasion – he'd been throwing himself a rather protracted pity party these past few weeks. Avoiding the family was better than enduring their snide comments and ending up as the butt of more than his fair share of their jokes. He only stooped _that_ low when he was truly starved for the familial connection he didn't want to miss or need so pathetically, and that was always followed by getting drunk enough to forget not only his own weakness but very nearly his own name.  
  
But this.. this was different. This was _Morty_ needing _him,_ and Rick hadn't even wanted to think about how much he'd missed that.  
  
Rick bit the inside of his cheek, looking down at the top of Morty's head, watching it tremble for a second, and then brought his hand up and cupped it around the back of his grandson's neck, pulling him in until he felt Morty's forehead press against his sternum.  
  
"I'm here now."  
  
Those words felt paltry at best to Rick, the worst kind of empty, useless reassurance. But they obviously meant far more to Morty. His grandson let out a little sob as he heard them, rubbing his face against Rick's sweater and wrapping him up in his arms, gripping his lab coat so tight that Rick thought he might tear it.  
  
It wasn't a comfortable hug.  
  
Morty was damp, his tears soaking a wet patch into Rick's chest. He was holding him too tight, and Rick still had one arm pinned between them, holding the thermos against his belly where the warm metal was digging into him. But despite all of that, and despite the way that he felt at a loss at the mere idea of anyone caring this much about him, he wouldn't have traded this moment for the world.  
  
"Shh.. I'm here," Rick repeated helplessly, petting Morty's curls and listening as his grandson sniffled against him.  
  
"I know."  
  
Morty's voice was muffled, and Rick felt him wipe his face against his sweater more purposefully, probably getting snot and tears all over him, before he pulled back just enough to look up, his expression right back to something stubborn.  
  
"And this year I'm keeping it that way. I'm not letting you weasel out of Christmas, Rick. So we're gonna– w-we're gonna get in the ship, and we're gonna fly around town and look at Christmas lights. And you're gonna drink your hot chocolate, Rick, and you're gonna like it. Then- then we're gonna come home, go to sleep, wake up, and open presents with the family."  
  
This time Rick lost the battle against himself, and he couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face as he looked down at Morty's damp, determined face.  
  
"Is that a fact?"  
  
"Yes it is. D-don't make me invoke my tenth adventure, Rick. I've got one saved up."  
  
"Calm down, there, Morty," Rick said, amused, "let's not get ahead of ourselves. That sounds like a- a pretty shitty adventure, buddy," Rick paused just long enough to enjoy the huffy anger building in his grandson's expression before continuing, his voice full of laughter and rich with happiness.  
  
"It does sound like a perfect Christmas, though."


	2. Humans are Squanch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick, Birdperson and Squanchy get drunk and talk about how crazy humans are after a Flesh Curtains concert.

"Liar."  
  
Rick blinked drunkenly up at Squanchy from where he'd slumped against the sticky surface of their rickety table, the kind that seemed to be a staple of bars across the galaxy. He, Squanchy and Birdperson had stopped at this dive after yet another show. They'd flown well away from the usual fans and hangers-on that gummed up the afterparties closer to a Flesh Curtains concert so that they could spend their time alone – just the three of them getting trashed together after a great fucking performance. But Rick had been drinking during the whole set as well, which was making it awfully hard for him to follow the conversation he was supposed to be having.  
  
"Whut're.. uh.." he muttered, confused, before deciding that it didn't really matter why Squanchy was calling him a liar.  
  
"You shut your m-mangy mouth," he blustered instead, although he was slowly becoming certain that the words had lost a fair amount of their strength with the way he was forced to slur them mostly against the alcohol-soaked linoleum.. or whatever passed for linoleum on this dumpster-dive of a planet.  
  
But he must have looked even sorrier than he thought, because a moment later he felt a familiar wing and a strong pair of arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him into a mostly-upright position. Rick didn't even try to support his own weight though. He just flopped bonelessly against Birdperson's side, laying his head against his friend's shoulder and giving him a hazy, grateful smile.  
  
"Y-you're a-a good Pers, Pers. A good, Pers. You'll– um, you know what Squanchy's talking a-about, don't you buddy? You know I've n-never told a lie in m-my– in my life, right?"  
  
"You were lying when I first met you, Rick," Birdperson said, stoic as always. Rick envied how well his longtime friend could hold his liquor. Pers could be three sheets to the wind and one drink away from total collapse – he still wouldn't even slur his words. But, envy or no, it didn't stop Rick from pulling back sharply from the way he was leaning against the other man's shoulder, nearly falling over in his effort to give Birdperson a betrayed look. He'd probably have actually fallen if Pers hadn't reached out and steadied him, but Rick ignored that too, batting irriatedly at his reaching hands.  
  
"Rick.."  
  
Birdperson sounded pained, his voice all full of contrition, and he hadn't stopped trying to reach for him. His hands were gentle and coaxing as they tried to drag him back against his side, and Rick could feel the tickle of feathers brushing up against the back of his neck.  
  
He held himself stiff for all of three seconds under that kind of onslaught, before sighing disgustedly and slumping back against his friend's side, trying both to not scowl as Squanchy snickered at him and to not smile as Pers started, absentmindedly, to preen him, brushing careful fingers through his hair.  
  
"You were telling Squanchy about your 'Moon Landing'." Birdperson added, and Rick blinked lazy eyes open in response, glancing up at the other man without moving his head from under the steady brush of gentle fingers through his hair.  
  
"I was?" he murmured, more focused on the wonderful feel of fingers rubbing along his scalp and painlessly untangling the messy knots in his hair – all gentle, infinite care.  
  
But then Pers' words sank in, clearing away the drunken fog surrounding the conversational thread he'd let slip, and Rick fumbled for it once more.  
  
"Yeah.. I was! A-a-and I'm n-not fucking lying. That moon landing is what propelled me into wanting to do it myself– wanting to explore space. Why would I lie about that?"  
  
"I'm not doubting that, Rick, but, come on.. a 'rocket ship'? You can't expect me to believe any species would be stupid enough to strap one of their own into a pressurized box on top of to a few thousand tons of liquid fuel in what basically amounts to a giant squanching bomb. Or at least that anyone but you would do it."  
  
Squanchy scoffed, but then his eyes went wide, "Is that it? Is your whole squanching species as insane as you are?"  
  
Rick froze, Birdperson's fingers going still in his hair, and then a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He tried to fight it off, but as he felt Pers resume his steady petting Rick lost his tenuous control, his smile spreading across his face and laughter chasing after it.  
  
"Wh-when you put it like that it does sound ridiculous," Rick snickered, Pers' steadying grip the only thing keeping him from collapsing back across the sticky table.  
  
"B-but it seemed perfectly normal o-on Earth. Sheer power is how I broke out of Earth's gravitational pull too, you know, e-even if I didn't use anything as crass as liquid fuel. I-is that n-not- not the norm for most worlds?"  
  
Squanchy knocked back the last of his drink and then wiped his paw across his mouth, shaking his head and rolling his eyes at Rick's question.  
  
"Of course it's not! That kind of power ain't necessary until you start trying to travel through space. To get off-world most planets just go with something nice and safe like mag-rails. Don't earthlings know how to use magnets, for squanch's sake?"  
  
But Rick was laughing too hard to do more than shake his head by that point, wheezing and giggling as he tried to catch his breath.  
  
"My people used anti-gravity," Birdperson added, curling his wing around Rick's shoulder and brushing his primary feathers against Squanchy's shoulder.  
  
Rick leaned into Pers' side, his laughter fading away as his smile got wider and more and more smug.  
  
"I-is that why my concentrated dark matter fuel is still so much better than the shit that all these 'advanced, space faring species' have been working on for thousands of years? Are most races just- just shit at creating energy sources? Or am I really just that amazing?"  
  
Rick was grinning so wide that it looked like his face might split in two as Squanchy groaned and reached out, sliding his drink across the table and into his waiting hand.  
  
"Squanch me, Rick, drink that, quick. I'll even buy the next round if it'll shut your smug face up."  
  
But Rick just snorted another laugh, lifting up his fresh drink and nearly spilling it as he wiped his wrist across his wet lower lip.  
  
"C'mon, Squanchy, you should know better. It'll take more than that to shut _me_ up."  
  
Rick sighed happily, closing his eyes and taking a long, leisurely drink, and did his best not to smile too wide around the mouth of the glass as he listened to his friend mutter about it apparently taking more than a few thousand tons of explosives to shut him up.


End file.
